More Than MD
by Shelly Lane
Summary: While trying to find out information about the ambassador of Ratdom, Dawson is convinced to share his life story. Disney owns all.
1. Disturbing the Peace

**Disturbing the Peace**

The clamor of the narrow streets had ceased several hours ago. Not even the sound of footsteps interrupted the complete stillness. It seemed the entire world had settled into a serene slumber, silently dreaming of tranquil bliss rather than rushing to keep up with daily life.

I wished I too had the same gift of gentle rest, but sleep was impossible, no matter how I tossed and turned. I consider myself a very patient mouse, but when I noticed the clock on my nightstand read 3:00, I decided to have a word with Basil. The violin had been screeching in the most unearthly manner for the past half hour.

Taking a breath to calm my frayed nerves, I stepped into the living room. "Basil, do you know it's three o'clock in the morning?"

"No, but if you hum it, I shall do my best to follow along!"

"I was not asking if you knew a song by that title! I was…!"

"I am perfectly aware what manner of inquiry you were making, Doctor. I am an investigator." He finally stopped playing his violin. "You've no doubt read in nearly every newspaper about the presence of the ambassador of Ratdom."

"Yes," I answered. "He's supposed to be taking a grand tour of Mousedom."

"What does that suggest to you, Dawson?" Basil asked.

"He wants to see our empire, but what is that to us?! It's none of our concern!"

"It most certainly is! In fact, it should be our_ primary _concern!"

"Is it not natural that an ambassador would wish to…?"

He lit his pipe. "You fail to grasp the complexity of the situation, Dawson. How much have you read about this ambassador?"

"Not much," I admitted.

"The ambassador of Ratdom is indeed mysterious, and I have heard rumors that he once knew Ratigan. Now he wishes to tour our empire. Perhaps I am mistaken, but we cannot overlook the possibility that we may have a new adversary, an enemy even more powerful than our previous nemesis!"

"You think he plans to cause some sort of trouble?"

"I cannot form an opinion until I find evidence, but I can neither justify his innocence nor prove his guilt."

I could hardly believe this. Basil was playing his violin and smoking a pipe before dawn because an ambassador was touring the empire, and the individual in question _might_ have known Ratigan. As far as I was concerned, there wasn't enough reason for suspicion, and this conversation could have at least waited until after sunrise.

"Get some rest, Dawson," Basil advised. "The ambassador would be expecting me to take his case. He will not be expecting you. After breakfast, you will disguise yourself and visit the library, the very place likely to attract someone who would know of the ambassador. Attempt to discover every possible bit of information, but do be discreet. It would greatly vex me if you were to behave as you did at The Rat Trap on our first case together."

"Are you a parent to instruct my behavior?!" I demanded.

As usual, Basil ignored me. After over a year of living with him, one would think I'd be used to it by now.

When I went to the library, I noticed a rat there. I had a feeling that a rat would most likely know more about Ratdom's ambassador than a mouse would, and even if I was mistaken, this was at least a start. I tried to think of the best way to begin the conversation, but being unable to think of anything, I decided to just begin naturally, keeping in mind how much some rats despise being called their own species.

I tipped my hat. "Good day, Miss Mouse."

The rat smiled. "Good day, Mr. Lizard."

"What makes you think I'm a lizard?"

"What makes you think I'm a mouse, Dr. Dawson?"

I gasped.

"Oh! You don't understand how I knew your name!" She laughed softly. "I had a feeling Basil would be confronting me. He's kind of suspicious of rats; however, he's too clever to challenge me himself, so I figured he'd be sending his associate to do it. After all I've heard about you, I recognized you from the way you greeted me." She frowned. "I should stop using your name. You're probably undercover, aren't you?"

"Why would Basil confront you?" I asked.

"From what I understand, I'm one of the few members of the community he hasn't confronted. I figured my turn would come eventually. We all have to answer to Basil at some time or the other, whether as victims, witnesses, or suspects." She grabbed a book off the shelf. "Which am I?"

"How should I know? I don't even know who you are."

The rat nodded. "Basil wishes to use me to find information about someone else. Is that it?" She took another book. "Now that we've established who you are and why you wish to speak with me, let's discuss what the great mouse detective wants to…" She frowned. "What's that?"

"What do you mean?" I queried.

"Over your shoulder." She stared into the distance. "That's what I thought! There's a story behind you!"

I rolled my eyes at the pun.

"You know, I'd probably be able to give better answers if I knew the story behind why I have the pleasure of addressing Basil's associate at this particular moment." She took her books to a comfortable chair and leaned forward in eager anticipation like a cat about to be given a plump mouse. "Basil's assistant himself!"

Something about her made me nervous, but I couldn't figure out why. Perhaps I was just too edgy from having my sleep interrupted by a violin, but I got the feeling this lady was more than she was pretending to be.

"While you're at it, how about a little of your past?" she asked politely. "That way I can really get the feel for…why are you so nervous? You act as if you've been captured by an enemy! We're just making casual conversation as acquaintances!"

I felt ashamed of myself for my unjust suspicions, so I began my story.


	2. Murder

**Murder**

I do hate to complain about my brothers and sisters, especially in front of complete strangers, but to be honest, I've had my share of sibling rivalry. My older brothers always used to make me do their homework. I've never considered myself incompetent, but as I was younger than my siblings, their studies were more advanced than my own. I did my best, but every time one of them got a bad grade, I was blamed.

My older sister was the complete opposite. She had no time for me, or anyone else for that matter. Many other young ladies would invite her to visit them, but she would shun their company. Young gentlemen would attempt to court her, and she would spurn them.

My younger siblings always tried to make me play with them. I didn't mind spending time with them, but I tired greatly of the same five games repeated every day.

Still, all things considered, we were a happy enough family. That is to say we were happy until the day that changed our lives forever. It all began the day my brother announced he had met a beautiful woman.

"Her name's Margaret!" he exclaimed. "She's lovely!"

Father chuckled. "You're starting to take an interest in young ladies, are you, Daniel?"

"Just one, Father!" Daniel replied.

"Treat her as you would Queen Moustoria, and you'll always be happy," Father advised.

Margaret Ingham was an unusual young woman. She was from one of the wealthiest families in Mousedom, but her riches had not made her conceited. Instead of being as cold and hard as the money she possessed, her heart was actually warm and generous, and she had a gentle spirit. We were all hoping Daniel would have enough sense to marry her.

My brother had never seemed happier in his life than when he made the announcement. "As all of you know, Margaret and I have been seeing a lot of each other, and she's my entire world. I asked her for the honor of dedicating the rest of my life to her happiness, and she said yes!"

However, it seemed fate was once more determined to destroy any trace of happiness it found. My older sister, the one who typically considered herself a gift to society, came to visit me once at the medical school I had been attending. She wasn't the same narcissistic mouse I had left. Her entire demeanor had changed.

"David," she began softly, "I'm worried. I keep having nightmares about Daniel and Margaret."

"Why?" I asked. "They obviously love each other more than their own lives. Don't you think they'll be happy together?"

"I keep dreaming that something tries to keep them apart," she confessed, "and it succeeds."

"Pay no heed to dreams," I advised. "They are only arbitrary ideas or fears at the end of the day."

She shook her head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. These terrors that ruin my rest seem logical. Only think of it this way, David, and I'm sure you'll agree. The Inghams, Margaret's family, are some of the wealthiest mice in the empire. I'm sure every criminal in the empire would relish the opportunity to seize their vast fortune, even if it means killing them. As Margaret's fiancé, Daniel's life would also be in danger, for as long as he lives, someone will be trying to get justice for the murdered Ingham family. I fear my nightmares are a warning that some terrible threat looms ahead."

From that day forward, her words haunted my mind, even when I tried to dismiss them as mere worries. On the day of Daniel's wedding, I was visiting home, congratulating my brother and wishing him the best in his new life. We hadn't been expecting company, so we were surprised when someone knocked on the door.

"Begging your pardon," the messenger began, "but a special package has arrived for Daniel Dawson in honor of his wedding day. If he will just step outside for a moment, he'll receive a gift never to be forgotten."

I watched out the window as my brother opened the door and stepped out. "I am Daniel. What can I do for you?"

"Here's your present!" The messenger pointed to where two other mice were holding Margaret by each arm. "It's not that we have anything personal against you, but our boss insists that he witness this most blessed event!" With that, he stabbed the young woman.

Daniel rushed forward to embrace his love a final time.

Margaret had just enough time to gasp, "At least I died in your arms!" and give him one last kiss before she departed from this life.

"Why have you done this?!" Daniel demanded.

"For the same reason we're doing this," one of the mice replied, sending a bullet into Daniel's heart. "Look at it this way: At least you don't have to live without each other. You get to die together, and you both sort of die of a broken heart-literally. That's so romantic!"

By this time, my entire family was standing on our porch, crying and pleading for mercy.

"No big emotional scenes! We were just after him! The rest of you are free to continue on with your lives! He just chose the wrong family to marry into. Don't feel bad. Nearly everyone within five square miles of this neighborhood has lost a close friend or family member to our boss. Today just happened to be your turn. Don't worry. You'll get over it eventually!"

With that, the rogues sprinted off. When we told the police what had happened, they acted as if they had heard similar stories several times within the last month.

"I wouldn't get you-know-who out here!" an inspector stated. "He thinks he's never wrong, and this is clearly work for trained professionals, not arrogant dreamers. This is all a game to him. I suspect he actually _likes_ murders because they give him something to do besides play that wretched violin of his!"

"He is a highly skilled investigator; we could use his help," a sergeant argued. "If he were out here…"

"We'd all have migraines," the inspector finished.

"It hardly matters!" a constable stated. "He's currently in Winchester on business! Whether we want his assistance or not, he's blatantly not available!"

The inspector nodded. "True, but he's going to loathe himself for missing this. An entire family killed, even a fiancé! Wouldn't he be excited if he were here at this moment? In fact, his enthusiasm would be so great that it would almost be an insult to the victims' surviving relatives."

That was all we ever heard. Much to our frustration, the police never found the three scoundrels who had committed the crime.

Despite our profound grief over Daniel's loss, I couldn't help my slight inkling of curiosity over the identity of "you-know-who." I suspected he was someone who had made a sort of name for himself among the detective force, but being a student of medicine, I was entirely unlikely to become involved in the field of criminal justice, so I dismissed my inquisitiveness and made no queries about his identity.


	3. Public Intoxication

**Public Intoxication**

It was in medical school that I made the acquaintance of Andrew Bennett. As we had much in common, Bennett and I soon became close friends.

"My siblings always used to make me remove slivers from their hands or tend their minor scrapes or burns," he once stated. "I suppose I always knew I was destined to become a healthcare professional."

Even after we started our own medical practices, we maintained contact as often as possible. Sometimes this meant we visited with each other nearly every week, but other times, we went months without so much as writing to each other. You must understand that being a doctor is not the same as other jobs. In certain careers, one's duties are generally the same or at least quite similar nearly daily. In any sort of healthcare profession, there may be hardly any patients one day and an overwhelming number the next, not to mention the wide variety of complaints. I've met some rather unusual characters, but my experiences were nothing compared to Bennett's.

I'll never forget when he told me about the day two mice and a lizard entered his office. At first, he thought it was a joke, especially when the mice whispered to each other about "pretending to be gentlemen."

"May I help you?" he asked.

One of the mice began, "Well, it's like this, Sawbones…"

The other mouse used an elbow to give him a sharp jab in the ribs. "We're gentlemen, you idiot!" he whispered.

The first mouse cleared his throat. "My apologies, Doctor. Our acquaintance has managed to fracture his arm, and we would be most grateful if you would tend it for him."

"How did this happen?" Bennett inquired gently.

"He didn't get in a bar fight or anything, and we're not criminals!" the first mouse answered, receiving another painful jab in the side from the second mouse. "I mean, we are unsure how it happened, Doctor, but our theory is that he has become slightly intoxicated, so any number of mishaps could have occurred."

The lizard hiccupped. His arm was bent at an unusual angle, but he didn't appear to be in pain. He was definitely more than _slightly_ intoxicated, and Bennett was beginning to think this lizard actually had broken his arm during a bar fight. Something about the other two mice made my friend want to summon the police, but more than anything, he just wanted them out of his office.

"Very well," Bennett answered against his better judgment. "Allow me to check the arm."

Halfway through the procedure, the lizard suddenly became sober and demanded to know what was happening.

"Just relax, Bill," one of the mice stated. "You got drunk and started a fight with someone twice your size. You're in a doctor's office now, and he's treating your broken arm. You're alright. He's almost done."

"Never again will I allow myself to become that drunk!" Bill cringed. "The boss is going to _murder_ me!"

"Will you shut up?!" the other mouse exclaimed. "You can't go around saying things like that!"

"We're pretending to be gentlemen so the doctor doesn't get suspicious," the first mouse explained. "Henry, will you stop elbowing my ribs?! It hurt the first time, and you keep hitting the same spot!"

"Look, Lewis, why don't you just keep your mouth shut?!" suggested Henry. "This guy isn't going to buy our gimmick for much longer if you don't hush!"

There are some times you don't even want to know what others are discussing, and this was definitely one of those situations. Bennett finished his work without commenting on their conversation.

"How much do we owe you?" Henry asked. "We don't get much money in our line of work, but Lewis and I are willing to split the bill. We want to pay like gentlemen instead of cheat you like ruffians!"

Bennett thought fast. "You have demonstrated the perfect qualities every gentleman should have, and I only wish more of Queen Moustoria's subjects were like you."

Their quiet chuckles made him wary, but he pretended to ignore the laughter.

"To show my appreciation for your impressive manners, I will not charge you, for it has been a high honor just to work among such proper gentlemen."

Bill laughed. "The boss would like you! You learn fast!"

"SHUT UP, BILL!" the others ordered.

"He's not half bad for a sawbones," Bill stated.

Bennett later told me, "I had a feeling that was a high compliment coming from him, but I made no remark."

Once when I was having lunch with him, Bennett sighed. "You're lucky, Dawson! Your patients are mice, but this morning I had to treat a _kitten_!"

I gasped. "As in a young _cat_?!"

"The same! A mouse came to my door and asked if I would make a house call because his sister had been bitten by a rat. I agreed, and he blindfolded me as he led me somewhere. When he removed the blindfold, I realized I was standing in front of a kitten who had a rat bite on her paw!"

"And you actually…?"

"What choice did I have? I tended the wound while the largest rat I'd ever seen in my life lectured the kitten on her foolishness for allowing the injury to infect and threatened to starve her if she was ever that careless again! He wasn't even the one paying me to take care of her! I don't know what this is all about, Dawson, but I don't like it!"

"Nor do I, Bennett," I agreed.


	4. Kidnapping

**Kidnapping**

Although a major event in my life, I do not care to describe my service in the army. I've seen brave men sacrifice their lives or lose use of their limbs. It is essential to make sure such selfless courage for one's country is never forgotten, but I find it most painful to relive such memories.

When I returned to England, I immediately began searching for a place to live, but I was having no luck. I was about to find a hotel where I could spend the evening when I heard someone crying. Upon following the sound, I discovered a young lady of perhaps eight years of age.

"Are you alright, my dear?" I asked, offering her a handkerchief and inquiring what was troubling her.

"I-I'm lost," she explained. "I-I-I'm trying to find Basil of Baker Street." She handed me a small scrap of newspaper.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed the headline of the column read "**Famous Detective Solves Baffling Disappearance!**" The article continued on, describing the abduction of Lord Upton Trupshaw.

I had to wonder why this child was wandering the streets at night, trying to find a detective. Something just didn't seem right.

"Where are your mother and father?" I queried.

She sobbed again. "That's why I m-must find Basil!"

I tried to get her stop crying. Desperately searching for words to comfort her, I began, "Well, I don't know any Basil…"

She pouted and looked up at me with pleading eyes.

Realizing that I couldn't just leave her there, I resigned myself to the inevitable. "But I do remember where Baker Street is. Now, come with me. We'll find this Basil chap together."

Looking back, I get the feeling that I made a horrible mistake that night. I have no regrets about assisting the girl, for I have dedicated my entire life to helping others be more at ease, but I'm afraid I was too slow to take the obvious hint that fate handed me about Basil. When I arrived at Baker Street, I saw a man out walking. I had no idea who would be out for a stroll at such an hour on a rainy night, but I didn't concern myself with that. I figured it was none of my business.

"Sir?" I called.

He walked over to me. "Yes?"

"I hate to bother you, but do you have any idea which of these buildings is the home of Basil of Baker Street?"

The stranger started laughing. "Basil? The one who insults Corelli nearly every night with his violin? The one who experiences every emotion possible within the same three minutes? The one who's never let us forget that he was the one to train the great human detective's dog? The one who keeps a chart of how often his name appears in the paper versus how many times his nemesis makes headlines, even though he claims he wants no recognition? The one who thinks his biggest accomplishment in life was stealing two henchmen right out from under his adversary's nose and making them gain favor with the royal family? The one who annoys everyone in town with tales of some fellow by the name of Sherlock Holmes? The one whose brilliant mind is too dense to realize a cynical loner has no chance against his foe's fifty or so employees?" He paused for breath. "That Basil?"

"I do believe so," I replied.

"Sir, I have no idea why you're trying to find him, but I wouldn't recommend it. However, he is good at his job, so if you insist on meeting him, he lives just over there." He pointed to a flat. "I must warn you though, he isn't exactly the most refined gentleman in Mousedom. He has no time for pleasantries or etiquettes."

"Thank you for your advice and directions," I responded.

"You're welcome." He walked off, laughing again. "Trying to find Basil! Poor chap doesn't know what he's in for! Imagine someone trying to meet Basil on purpose! Of course, I ought to be a bit kinder when I speak of the sleuth. After all, he did save my life once…"

I knocked on the door the stranger had indicated. When an elderly woman answered, I removed my hat and asked if this was the residence of Basil of Baker Street.

"I'm afraid it is," she answered. "He's not here at the moment, but you're welcome to come in and wait."

"Oh, I don't want to impose," I replied. "It's just that the girl…"

The lady thrust her bundle of assorted objects into my arms and started fussing over the child. After setting down the load, I was just planning to thank her for her trouble, wish the girl the best of luck, and take leave of them both when another mouse burst through the door as if making a grand entrance, seemingly unaware that anyone else was in the room.

"I say, who…" I removed the hat he had tossed onto my head. "Who are you?!"

"What?" He finally noticed me. "Oh! Basil of Baker Street, my good fellow!"

His voice was even during his introduction, as if doffing an elaborate disguise while addressing strangers was a completely natural action, one no doubt repeated innumerable times. However, he was obviously enthusiastic about his work at hand, far too ardent to pay attention when the girl and I tried to explain the reason for our visit.

Basil handed me a gun. "Will you hold this please, Doctor?"

At first I didn't realize what I was holding, and it was only by a stroke of extraordinary luck that I didn't accidentally shoot myself. When I asked Basil how he knew I was a doctor, he added that I was a surgeon who had recently returned from Afghanistan, explaining how he knew and insisting that it was quite simple.

He acted superior, as if he relished every opportunity to demonstrate his virtuosity. Guessing my occupation accurately and seeing my astonishment had no doubt been one of the highlights of his busy evening. However, his mood changed immediately to depression after an experiment, which involved the demise of three pillows, didn't quite turn out the way he expected. I made no attempt to understand the experiment, but I silently encouraged Olivia to explain her problem.

"Now will you please listen to me?!" she demanded, determined to force Basil into helping her. "My daddy's gone, and I'm all alone!"

"Young lady, this is a most inopportune time," the detective answered.

What followed was not so much a battle of wits as a battle of wills. Basil had given up and was determined to succumb to a bout of depression, but Olivia wasn't about to let him off that easily. She had finally found the only mouse who could reunite her with her father, and she wasn't giving up. When she mentioned that a bat had kidnapped her father, Basil immediately became interested, especially when he was sure he had guessed the bat's identity correctly. After explaining to us how the bat was an employ of a "Professor Ratigan," Basil made himself comfortable.

"Tell me everything, Miss Flaherty," he instructed.

Olivia climbed into his lap. "Well, you see, Mr. Basil…"

"Are you insinuating that you would like use of my chair?"

"No."

"Then why are you sitting on me?" he queried.

"It makes me feel better!"

"Sitting on someone makes you feel better?"

Olivia rested her head on his shoulder, and Basil recoiled as if he had just been shot.

"Miss Flivership," he began, "I'm dreadfully sorry that your father has fallen into the hands of criminals, but could you possibly be so kind as to find your own seat? My chair has become rather crowded all of a sudden."

"You mean you're not going to put your arm around me and let me know everything's going to be alright?" she asked.

Basil frowned. "I shall do my best to locate your father, but I fail to see how wrapping an arm around you would be of any significance to the case."

"It's known as reassurance," I stated.

He sent a baleful lower my direction. "Is my word not good enough for her?"

"Children are a bit different, Basil," I explained. "You have to spend more time comforting them than you do with adults. Did you never have your own niece or daughter?"

"No!" he responded, irritated that I had even thought of such a possibility.

"Just try to humor her," I advised. "You may find that you like it."

He sighed and rolled his eyes, but he awkwardly attempted to pull Olivia into an embrace, which he obviously didn't mean. "All will be well. Now will you present the facts of your case?"


	5. Theft

**Theft**

After Fidget attempted to kidnap the girl, I found the villain's hat. Basil insisted on visiting Toby, and to my astonishment, he invited me to come.

I've often wondered why Toby didn't like me. Whenever I've asked him, he's ignored me or let Mrs. Hudson's cat put me into her mouth. (I know humans are free to do as they choose, but I sincerely wish Mrs. Hudson had never gotten a cat, especially not one with such a sordid sense of humor! The cat has never harmed me, but…)

To return to my story, I will merely conclude that Toby and I didn't exactly form any sort of instant friendship. He growled nearly every time he saw me, and there's no telling what he would have done if Basil hadn't been there. Then again, perhaps Toby was making a cruel joke at my expense. I suppose I'll never know.

We tracked the fiend to a toy shop made for human children. It was sort of adorable imagining that humans play with toys when they're young, just as we do. I almost began to wonder if humans had thoughts, emotions, logic, personalities, and professions like we do. (When I asked Basil about it later, he just rolled his eyes, so I'm not sure what sort of answer he meant.)

Basil has often told me that if I ever describe the events that occurred at the toy shop, he'll have me arrested, even if he has to invent evidence. That being, I will merely content myself to say I am sure Basil has had much more graceful moments. (I know I certainly have!) Fidget succeeded in stealing the girl, and Basil was incensed, giving me quite the harangue.

I barely noticed what he was saying. All I thought of was the innocent child at the hands of the criminal Basil had described. If Ratigan was even half as dangerous as the detective claimed, Olivia's very life could be in danger. If I had only watched her more closely, she would never have fallen into Fidget's hands. If she died, I would be as guilty as if I had murdered her myself.

Basil's hand lightly came to rest on my shoulder. "We'll get her back."

Dared I hope? "You really think there's a chance?"

"There's always a chance, Doctor, as long as one can think!" He paced, smoking a pipe to try to stimulate his thought process.

When I found a list, the detective became animated, declaring it was precisely what we needed. Upon our return to Baker Street, he deduced that the list had come from a seedy pub where the sewer connected with the waterfront.

Basil was determined that he would apprehend his adversary once and for all. "Ratigan will be brought to justice! I'll see to it! He will pay a terrible price for every tear he's ever caused the innocent to shed!"


	6. Treason

**Treason**

I'd never felt more idiotic in my life than when I appeared in public in that hideous striped shirt, dreadful bandana, and ludicrous eye patch. The earring was definitely unnecessary.

Basil had hoodwinked me. "How would you like the opportunity to assist in the capture of Ratigan and rescue Miss Flaversham?"

"By all means!" I had eagerly agreed.

"We shall have to disguise ourselves. I shouldn't think we'll be needing anything too elaborate. For myself, I consider a blue jacket and false mustache to be sufficient."

His costume sounded simple enough, so I was more than willing to join his ruse.

"Change into these." He handed me the shirt with the most absurd accessories known to mousekind.

When we entered the pub, I was nervous. The Rat Trap must be where all lowlifes rejected from prison end up going. I had much to learn about pretending to be one of them. When I started to order a drink, Basil put his hand over my mouth.

"Two pints for me and my shipmate!" His voice sounded rough, not at all with its usual air of superiority.

I wondered how long he'd had to practice that accent or if it had just come naturally for him. Some mice can do any sort of accent easily while there are those of us who can't even come close no matter how long we practice.

I don't have much of a memory of what happened next. I suppose I drank something, but the next thing I knew, Basil was trying to rouse me. For some unexplainable reason, I didn't feel too steady on my feet, and my head was swirling a bit. I wish I knew what happened. Basil later invented this outlandish story about me drinking tampered beer and dancing with showgirls, but I don't believe him. I told him as soon as he could present evidence, I might be willing to accept his story, and he muttered something about "living in denial."

At Basil's bidding, I followed him through narrow pipes. To this day, I have no idea how he managed to navigate through anything so dark, but I suppose he'd spent many years perfecting the technique. When we emerged at Ratigan's lair, the villains were ready for us with confetti, balloons, and a banner made especially to debase Basil, who tried to steel himself against the humiliation but eventually succumbed to defeat.

As the scoundrels began to tie ropes around me, Ratigan burst into song. I forget the exact lyrics, but it was something about "This is the end" and "I hold in my soul a need for control." After his song, Ratigan kicked Basil in the ribs as hard as he could.

"Say it, Basil!" the rat demanded. "Admit I'm more clever than you'll ever be!"

Basil was forced to sing about how Ratigan's mind was superior. The criminals tied us to an elaborate mousetrap, and the evil genius gloated yet again, leaving us with another irritating song playing on a record.

Surprisingly unconcerned, Basil explained that the queen was in danger and the empire was doomed. I tried coaxing him into saving our lives, but he paid no heed. With a cruel death looming over us, I wasn't about to give up. I attempted to reason with him, but when even that didn't work, I quickly lost patience.

"Dash it all, Basil!" I exclaimed. "The queen's in danger! Olivia's counting on us! We're about to be horribly splatted, and all you can do is lie there feeling sorry for yourself! Well, I know you can save us, but if you've given up, then why don't we just set it off now and be done with it?!"

My final comment had been made somewhat sarcastically, but Basil took it literally. I suppose I panicked because the last thing I remember was his joyful exclamation of "We'll set the trap off now!" The next thing I knew, he was pulling me close enough to stand beside him.

"Thank you, Dawson. Smile, everyone!"

There was the flash of a camera. From what I understand, the picture was later developed and is currently in Fidget's possession, but at the moment, I didn't care who viewed the photo or when they did it. All I wanted was to leave the dreadful place where I had almost lost my life.

Basil, Olivia, Toby, and I arrived at Buckingham Palace just in time for the detective to save the queen from what were quite literally the jaws of death. Afterwards, Basil asked her forgiveness for not having time to bow or address her properly as a gentleman ought to do when greeting Her Majesty. She bade him to think no more of it and thanked him for his "most noble deed."

Although Basil's rescue was outstanding, I must also acknowledge Toby's actions. From the way the dog chased Ratigan's cat, I assumed the two of them had a long history of odium.

"It's all over now, Dawson!" Basil whispered eagerly as we silently raced through the corridors. "Ratigan will destroy innocent lives no longer! He will never again attempt to bring about my demise!"

(Looking back now, I only wish it had been true!)

Our next course of action was to liberate the queen's guards, who offered their most humble apologies for failing in their duties. Her Highness was most gracious, forgiving them immediately and assuring them it was not their fault that they fell into Ratigan's ambush. We then hurried to where Flaversham was being held hostage. Working together, we seized the criminals.

"Observe!" Basil mouthed, grabbing the controls for a large robot as fervently as a child at Christmas.

"Most assuredly, you insidious fiend!" he began. "You're not my royal consort! You're a cheap fraud! An imposter! A corrupt, vicious, demented scoundrel! There's no evil scheme you wouldn't concoct! No depravity you wouldn't commit! You, Professor, are none other than a foul stenchus rodentius, commonly known as a…"

He could contain himself no longer. Bursting from behind the curtain, Basil triumphantly exclaimed, "Sewer rat!"

After enjoying Ratigan's reaction, Basil finally got to say the three words he'd been waiting for years to speak: "Arrest that fiend!"


	7. Assault and Battery

**Assault and Battery**

This was clearly the best night of Basil's life, but his joy was cut short. Olivia fell back into Ratigan's hands, and after a chase through the stormy skies above London in our respective flying machines, Basil ended up trapped inside Big Ben with the criminal mastermind and the young hostage.

At first, Flaversham and I stared at the hole caused by the wrecked dirigible. All we could do was wonder if anyone had survived. Finally we saw Basil emerge with Olivia. I held Flaversham by his apron to help balance him as he reached for his daughter, but he still wasn't close enough.

What followed next still haunts my nightmares. Ratigan, who by this time was looking far more rat than gentleman, lunged at Basil, knocking Olivia into the air. By some stroke of luck, Flaversham managed to catch his daughter before she fell. I was delighted that the girl was in safe hands once more. Knowing she would be fine, I turned my attention to Basil, who was now on one of the clock's hands. Perhaps it goes without saying that he looked terrified.

"Basil! Over here!" I called.

He smiled with relief but was promptly seized by the enraged rat. I've seen a lot of injuries in my years as a doctor, but never before had I seen anyone torn to pieces before my very eyes. I watched Basil's transformation from an individual in the peak of health into a helpless victim near death. Ratigan was going to kill him as we all watched in horror, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. The conflict only ended when the two of them plummeted from the face of the clock.

Against all odds, Basil survived. He had managed to grab the propeller of the wrecked dirigible and was using it to approach our simplistic flying machine. I frowned. The exercise of using the propeller had no doubt caused Basil's heart rate to increase, making him lose blood even faster. If his back looked even half as shredded as his jacket…!

"Don't worry, Basil. As soon as we return to Baker Street, I'll take care of your wounds," I offered.

He refused.

I consider myself a peacekeeper. If I come to an understanding that someone else and I are never going to agree on a certain matter, I dismiss the subject. In the rare event I find myself in a dispute, the quarrel is generally over in five minutes or less. However, this was one argument I continued for the remainder of the evening.

"Shouldn't you at least stop the bleeding before your don a borrowed jacket?" I suggested after we arrived at Buckingham Palace.

"Excellent advice, Dawson!" he replied. "If I were bleeding, I would certainly…"

"What do you call this?" I demanded, holding out his tattered jacket where he could see the red stains.

"I call it an exaggeration, Doctor."

"No one wins against Basil," one of the guards informed me. "I tried once. I told him there was no escape from Ratigan, but Basil insisted he could help me."

"You look as if you've been positively miserable since you retired from your career as a criminal's henchman," Basil remarked sarcastically.

"I wake up every morning in the security of my own home and have a peaceful breakfast with the most beautiful woman in Mousedom while we talk about our blessings and plan for our future. I haven't heard the noise of carousing in years, and I can't remember the last time I watched anyone get eaten alive. Every day, I have to live with the knowledge that I've gained royal favor through a respectable profession. You're right, Detective. I'm exceedingly miserable. I have no idea how I manage."

Basil tried to smile at the joke, but I noticed he was wincing instead. Slipping on his borrowed jacket, he knelt before the Queen to be knighted, as she had arranged.

"You too!" The guard gave me a brief shove forward. "Guilt by association!"

Even though I had done nothing to deserve the honor, I too was thanked by the queen. As soon as the ceremony was over, I returned to my debate with Basil.

"Are you feeling any signs of fatigue or weakness?" I asked.

"I'm glad you asked! I have the most dreadful migraine! I suspect I got it from being interrogated repeatedly by someone who clearly lacks the knowledge of how to mind his own business!"

"Basil, I understand that you have your pride and that a true gentleman shows bravery despite injuries, and I greatly respect such an admirable quality; however, I think it only fair to warn you that…"

"Let me guess," he sighed. "You're about to give me the speech about how I could bleed to death if I continue to refuse medical assistance. Do save yourself the trouble. I assure you I'm quite alright."

For the record, if anyone else in the world had informed me that they were unharmed, I would have stopped asking immediately. The only reason I persisted with Basil is because I had a feeling he was too proud to admit he was dying, and I knew that almost everyone in the empire would be deeply grieved to lose such a brilliant detective, especially after he had saved the queen's life.

"Basil, I understand if you will not accept _my_ help," I stated as we walked toward his home on Baker Street, "but will you not at least place yourself in the care of another physician, someone you trust?"

He threw open his door, crossed the room, and sank into his chair. "Confound it, Dawson! I have told you thrice already that I am unscathed!"

That was true enough. Even though I had lost count of how many times he had insisted he wasn't injured, he had used the word "unscathed" precisely three times.

It was only a few minutes later that he went into shock.

"Flaversham, can you help me take him to his room?" I inquired.

"Of course!"

After we had placed Basil on his bed, I asked Flaversham to bring me my black bag of medical supplies, and he did so.

"Thank you. I think I can manage from here if you wish to see to your daughter."

"Will he live, Doctor?" Flaversham queried. "Be completely honest. I'd rather know the truth, no matter how unpleasant, than believe a lie."

"If he had allowed me to take care of him sooner, he would have lived," I replied. "Now there may still be a slight chance, but it's nearly too late to have any hope."

He nodded. "I'll leave you to your work then."

With that, he left to reassure Olivia.

When I finally saw how much damage Ratigan had caused, I gasped. "Oh, Basil! I knew you weren't as hale as you pretended, but I couldn't have imagined it was this bad!"

Even though the injured investigator was past the point of making retorts, I continued to talk to him. "It's alright, Basil. No one ever has to know you needed help, and even if someone finds out, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone requires some sort of assistance eventually."

Inwardly, I pleaded that Basil would survive. "May the spirits of Ratigan's victims come to the aid of the one who brought their killer to justice! May the mouse who lived near the human known as 'Hippocrates' guide my hands as I work!"

Looking back now, I realize that this doesn't make much sense, but you have to remember that at the time, it was rather late at night, and it had been quite an eventful evening. Besides, I was rather desperate for any sort of assurance that Basil would not die at Ratigan's hands.

Having cleaned the wounds and tended each one to the best of my ability, I spoke words of comfort to my unwitting patient. "There now. It's all over. You'll probably feel a bit sore tomorrow, but if you just relax for a few days, you'll be completely well in no time. I'll go now so you can get some rest."

It was about then that I realized I had been fooling myself. Basil hadn't heard a word I said, and his pulse was so weak that it was only a matter of time before he would be defeated by the ultimate foe that eventually claims us all.

With a heavy heart, I paused at Basil's door. "Yes, get plenty of rest. May you rest in eternal peace."


	8. Malpractice

**Malpractice**

After a restless night, I imagined I heard a voice. It sounded like an angry whisper.

"Confound it! He'd amputate my arm up to the shoulder if he suspected I had a sliver in my finger! I get a few lacerations, far more superficial than the occasional paper cut, and…!" The next few sentences were indistinct muttering. "…entirely unnecessary! After I specifically told him I required no assistance…!" This was followed by more muttering. "Still, I suppose he did manage to save my life, and it would have been most unbecoming for an investigator to be assassinated by someone who has already been executed for his crimes, assuming Ratigan's dead, of course." There was muttering yet again. "By technicality, he also managed to prevent my demise at Ratigan's lair. He could prove most helpful as soon as he learns a few rules of protocol."

It sounded like the voice was coming from the kitchen, but when I entered the room, I saw no one. I dismissed the voice as a trick of the mind. After a few minutes, I heard footsteps.

"Good morning."

I turned to address the speaker. "Good morning, Mrs. Judson. I'm dreadfully sorry for intruding your kitchen, but I thought I heard someone in here."

"Well, if you did, let them know breakfast will be a bit late. I'm afraid I'm not my usual self this morning," she stated. "I can't stop thinking about how Mr. Basil collapsed last night. He was on his feet one minute, and the next thing we knew, he was on the floor. I just walked by his room to see if anyone was there, and…" She dabbed at her eyes. "I couldn't bring myself to open the door. There wasn't a sound coming from the room."

Flaversham entered the kitchen. "Good morning. Did either of you go outside? I thought I heard the door open."

I was beginning to think Basil's ghost was haunting his former home, but there are certain thoughts one must never share, especially not at certain moments, so I held my tongue. Without a word, we all sat at the table.

"Olivia will probably be sleeping in late. It took a while for her to fall asleep last night," Flaversham commented. "I thought she'd never be able to rest after the events of the past few days, but it's nice to see her sleeping peacefully." After a pause, he added, "I only hope Basil's sleep will be peaceful."

We all sat in silence for the next several minutes. Mrs. Judson made tea and brought it to the table, but neither Flaversham nor I drank much. All of us were thinking the same thing, but none of us dared voice it.

Olivia walked to the table. "Good morning, Daddy."

"Good morning, Olivia." He hugged her.

"Where's Basil?"

None of us knew how to answer her.

"He's resting," Mrs. Judson replied gently. "We'll check on him in a short while."

The child pouted. "Is he dead?!" She started sobbing.

Flaversham wrapped his arm around his daughter. "Even though I barely knew him, I am truly honored to have made his acquaintance. Many mice owe him their lives, just as Olivia and I owe him ours. He became Ratigan's victim so we didn't have to be, and although we'll never be able to repay him, none of us shall ever forget his selfless courage, his indisputable nobility, or his quick mind."

"Indeed his memory shall live on in our hearts forever, and he shall be greatly missed." Basil closed the front door as he stepped inside. "A most touching eulogy, Flaversham. Whose was it?"

"Basil!" Olivia ran to embrace him, not noticing the look of agony that crossed his face upon impact.

"A bit early to begin planning for my funeral, don't you think?" Basil inquired.

"I'm glad I'm too early!" Flaversham answered.

Mrs. Judson beat a rolling pin against her hand. "Mr. Basil! Where have you been?! You've got a lot of audacity causing everyone to believe you've met your death!"

"I was investigating a case," Basil responded. "If you'll excuse me."

He stood directly in front of me. "A word with you? We must talk immediately!"

"Yes, Basil?"

"Do you realize I am wrapped in more bandages than every injured party in the empire combined?!"

I ignored his blatant exaggeration. "Aren't you feeling better?"

"In the future, you will kindly remember that it is most unprofessional to offer your medical services without the patient's consent, and there is no excuse for swathing anyone in bandages when it isn't necessary."

"As you say," I answered, knowing he would have quite the tirade for me as soon as he discovered the sutures I had administered to some of the most serious injuries.

Basil never directly thanked me for helping save his life, but about the time I figured I had overstayed my welcome and was moving on to find a place to live, a young lady came to the door. Never one to miss an opportunity, Basil introduced me to her as his most trusted associate with whom he did all his cases. I figured that was as close to thanks as I was going to get, and staying at Baker Street sounded a lot better than having nowhere to live, so we shook on the deal. From that time on, Basil and I were a close team…even though there are still times I wish to cram that violin of his down his throat.


	9. Resisting Arrest

**Resisting Arrest**

When I had concluded my narration, the rat smiled and thanked me for the story.

"Why, you're quite welcome!" I replied.

"I'm glad I'm not you," she remarked. "Basil's going to give you such a rant if he finds out you've just told your life story to a complete stranger! You know nothing about me. I may be a criminal." She beamed, clearly enjoying herself. "Other mice could probably share their life stories without fear of any sort of consequences, but you're a detective's associate."

I shuddered at the thought of what I had just done.

"Don't worry," she continued. "I won't tell Basil. This will be our secret. Besides, if I caused trouble after hearing stories, no one would be willing to share them with me! In fact, the whole reason I came to the library today was to see if I could find one last story about someone before I left town." She cleared her throat. "You came here for different reasons. Before you began your autobiography, you had something you wanted to ask me."

"Yes," I responded. "I merely wished to find out if you knew any information at all about the ambassador of Ratdom."

"As a matter of fact, we know each other personally." She held a small mirror in front of her face. "You might say we see each other every day."

"I've heard that the ambassador once knew Professor Ratigan," I commented.

"Just knowing Ratigan is cause for arrest?" the rat asked. "In that case, I suppose I shall hang!" She sighed. "Shall I assume Basil wishes to speak with the ambassador? Anyone who once knew Ratigan and now works for the government is automatically suspected of planning a coup d'état, especially if the individual in question is a rat. Is that it? If the ambassador were a mouse, would Basil still be suspicious?"

When she put it that way, I felt ashamed to be part of this investigation.

"Rather than supposing the ambassador of Ratdom is touring the empire of Mousedom in order to appreciate it fully, Basil presumes this _sewer rat_ means to continue Ratigan's treason."

"Others may believe that," I stated, "but Basil would much prefer to know facts. That's why he would like a word with the ambassador. He sent me to see if I can find out any information."

The rat almost laughed. "Then you are no doubt pleased with the meeting I arranged." She sighed. "Alas! You would not recognize the ambassador from three feet away!"

"What makes you say that?" I inquired.

"You really don't understand, do you?" She held out a newspaper. "By the way, why do all these journalists assume the ambassador is male? What do you mice have against a female government official?"

"Nothing at all," I answered. "We're all very loyal to our queen."

"I can tell these nitwits didn't even bother interviewing the ambassador before writing these articles, but I find it rather humorous!" She rose from her chair. "Thank you again for regaling me with your anecdotes about your life."

When she was almost to the door, she turned. "Dr. Dawson?"

"Yes?"

"Thank Basil for me. I appreciate his concern. It's nice to know how dedicated he is to ensuring no one will ever try to destroy Mousedom again, and I only wish he would monitor all government officials as closely as he tries to monitor me. Tell him if he sincerely believes the ambassador is causing problems, he can cease the undercover work. We shall arrange a meeting like civilized individuals."

I gasped in sudden realization. "Ambassador?"

She briefly curtsied with a smile. "At your service."


End file.
